Open since November, Via Tribunali isn't simply a new Italian-style pizzeria on Capitol Hill -- it's a Neapolitan-style pizzeria. One committed to using imported Italian products in order to make the closest thing possible to the thin-style pizza you'd find in Naples. This includes the pizzamaker (aka pizzaiolo); all ingredients for the pizza dough, sauce and toppings; and, of course, the oven -- in this case, a white-tiled, dome-shaped, traditional wood-burning oven made with imported bricks. Everything, in short, except for the small logs of apple wood used to feed the flames that heat the oven that bakes the pizzas.

My favorite server here, a young Milanese woman, initially informs us that even the fire wood is shipped from Italy. My reaction -- "Really?!" -- must startle her. She double-checks with Via Tribunali's sole official pizzaiolo, Espedito "Dino" Santonicola, the "primo uomo" of the premises. Clad in chef's whites and purple bandana head wrap, Dino shakes his head. The wood, he informs her in Italian, is local.

The obsession with all things Italian makes Via Tribunali a natural intersection for foodistas, trendistas and snobistas. It doesn't hurt that, in the tradition of the best underground clubs, there is no sign outside this molto hip Pike-Pine pizzeria to alert those less in-the-know of its presence. In addition to the entrancing aroma of pizza baking in a real wood-burning oven, there's a hint of self-importance and exclusivity circulating in the air of this narrow, brick-exposed space. Add a dash of Capitol Hill-insider attitude -- from customers and staff alike -- and the combination could be off-putting.

My reason for coming here is simple: the food. Specifically, I crave the sweet black char and slightly salty aftertaste of Via Tribunali's pizza dough after it comes out of that magnificent wood-fired Italian oven. That, alone, will keep me coming back for more.

The menu lists a dozen different thin-crusted pizzas ($9-$15). All are suitable for sharing or eating solo. All come with Italian tomato sauce and Dino's signature, a single, centered basil leaf. All arrive uncut: You do the slicing with your own fork and knife.

I'm less enamored of the bland "tonno pizze" ($15), featuring what appears to be canned oil-packed dark-meat tuna (need I say "imported from Italy"?) atop a base of tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella. I like it better the next day, cold, with an added pinch of good salt.

The "salame pizze" ($13), topped with sliced pepperoni, may be the most "American" pizza of the bunch. It's fine and it's a missed opportunity. Anyway, when it comes to pepperoni here, I prefer mine in the calzone al salame ($14.50), thank you very much.

Dino, it turns out, makes a mean calzone or more, accurately, a trio of mean calzones. Two -- the "al salame" and "Napoletano" ($13.50) -- are what you'd expect: pizza dough folded over ingredients and baked as a semi-circular turnover. The third, the magnificent Vesuvio ($14.50), is this particular pizzaiolo's true masterpiece. Its ingredients -- pale cooked ham, ricotta, fresh mozzarella and slick canned mushrooms -- work well, but they're not the main draw. It's that crust -- twice as much of that glorious crust -- that makes the Vesuvio a winner time and time again.

Starters are limited. My favorite way to begin the meal is to share an "insalata semplice" ($5), lettuces and arugula moistened with mustard vinaigrette, and an antipasti -- either "misto salumi" ($11), an assortment of Armandino Batali's cured meats, or the "prosciutto e mozz" ($10), prosciutto di Parma paired with sliced Buffalo-milk mozzarella. For me, the success of any Caprese ($9) -- Buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, basil -- completely depends on the quality of the tomatoes; avoid it here until you definitely know the tomatoes are good.

Via Tribunali sells three desserts -- all imported, all from Bindi, a Milano-based dessert manufacturer. I'm quickly hooked on tartufo affogato ($6.50), a ball of cappuccino gelato sprinkled with coffee-flavored meringue bits, filled with a gooey espresso-rich center then doused with a fresh shot of Caffe Vita espresso. At the recommendation of our Milanese server, I try the pastiera Napoletana ($7) and am delighted I did. Also known as "Easter cake" or "grain cake," it tastes like the essence of spring: sweet pastry crust topped with ricotta, cooked wheat grains and candied fruit flavored with lemon zest and orange blossom water.

Reservations are accepted for parties of eight or more. There's no sign-up list and, most nights, no greeting. Your best bet for scoring a table is to go between 5 and 7 p.m. After that, the coolerati show up and there's likely to be a 35-minute wait for a table.